Shattered Window - A Russians are Coming! Fanfic
by Russianskipper74
Summary: Lieutenant Yuri Rozanov had only returned to get Kolchen, But there was no way Walt Whittaker could have known... And now it was too late. Now its up to Walt to save the Russian's life. As bad turns to worse, Walt and Rozanov must try to prevent what could possibly become a World War III. A rewrite and continuation of a scene in "The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming!"
1. 1: Attempted Escape

A _The Russians are Coming! _Fanfic

_**Shattered Window**_

Chapter 1

_Attempted Escape_

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. **

**This is a re-write of a scene from the 1966 comedy movie "The Russians are Coming! The Russians are Coming!" If you are unfamiliar with this movie, this will probably not make sense. So if have not seen it... Watch it! It's the best!**

Rozanov barely waited for the old car to come to a complete stop before he swung the door open and jumped out. Before him was the large sea-side home that only that morning had been a place of high hopes, now shattered and turned into a place of anxiety. The Russian could feel the tension rise in him as he thought of what could have become of his shipmate, Kolchen. Rozanov bent to a slight crouch, stepping up along side the old, weather-worn car garage that leaned at an angle upon its cement foundation. He peered in.

"Kolchen?" Rozanov called in a whisper, glancing inside the small structure. "Kolchen?" There was no answer, as he had expected, and he cautiously crept his way toward the house, alert to danger and tense with dread and anxiety. How he wished it would all just end. Ever since this whole nightmare had started, his nerves had been growing more and more on edge and his hands shook awkwardly as he held his gun taught in his grasp. Pressing on faster, Rozanov trotted alongside the gate bordering the American's property, gun drawn and cocked. Upon reaching an entrance in the fence, he straitened slightly, glancing from side to side like a hunted animal. He entered, making his way cautiously toward the side porch of the house. Rozanov paused, checking the house for any sign of life from what he could see.

"Kolchen?" He took another step forward. "Kolchen?" The sense that something was wrong urged him forward, and he stepped up onto the porch. The sound of a car engine suddenly caught his ear and he froze, spun a 180 and looked, startled, around the supporting porch beam as a car drove up behind the car that he had stolen. Scared, the Russian dashed inside the house.

Walt Whitaker fumbled to unclip his seat belt. The American was terrified. His daughter alone with Alyson, unprotected, in a house being watched by a Russian Submariner was a scary thought. The thought of harm coming to his daughter frightened him and he knew he would never forgive himself if any harm was to come to either of them. Finally unclamping his restraint, he quickly jumped out of the car. His wife also jump out, anxious to know what was happening within their own house hold.

"They must be alright; Who would wan't to harm them?" Elspeth exclaimed, trying to reassure herself; but alarm was prominent in her voice.

"I'll get the gun!" Walt stated, all shaken up by the excitement of the moment.

"Papa!" Pete called from within the car. Walt turned, alarmed to see his son holding the machine gun.

"Just give me that gun, Pete!" He quickly grabbed the machine gun he had attained from that young Russian only that morning from his son.

"Stay in the car, both of you!" Walt ordered running up around the front of the car. He looked over, seeing that his wife was holding the bullets for the gun.

"Give me those..." He trailed off, to flustered to remember their name.

"What?" His wife gasped, running up to him.

Quickly he grabbed them from her. "...Bullets" Walt finished, finally remembering what they were called.

He took the box in his shaking hands, fumbling to open it; he dropped it. The box hit the dirt, bullets scattering all over the ground. With a moan of frustration, Walt bent down, feverishly gathering them up.

He straitened, trying to load the bullets into the gun. Elspeth grabbed her son by the hand, anxiously dashing towards the house.

Frustrated, Walt looked up to see this. "Just stay behind me! Uh! How do you load this darn thing?! Just get behind me!"

The two slid to a halt, then turned and ran up behind him.

"Stay back of me! Stay back of me!"

"I don't see anybody! I don't see Annie..." Pete wined.

"They must be in the house!" Elspeth exclaimed, moving faster to a trot.

"Just stay behind me!" Walt yelled back, turning to look at them. The machine gun swinging up into his wive's face.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, pushing it away. "I'm frightened! What are you gonna do?!" scared, she ran past him, yelling, "Annie! Annie!" Pete ran with her.

Fear rising, Walt dashed toward the side porch. "Annie! Alison!" He flew up the steps, shoving the door open. "Ali-" He froze as a cold, black pistol was shoved inches from his face.

The American and Russian stood for a moment, looking each other in the eye. Both equally as frightened. Rozanov saw his chance and, throwing himself against the American and knocking him against the door frame, he made a mad dash out the door.

Walt cringed at the impact, but his fear was all he felt. That Russian had been armed and in his house. A terrible thought came over him. "Hey! Where's my daughter!" Walt exclaimed, horrified at his thought. Regaining his footing he ran out onto the porch, seeing the Russian making a desperate escape for the garage.

"Stop or I'll fire! Where my daughter!" Walt yelled. Lifting the gun, he took a shot at the fleeing Russian. It missed, only the shoot down a supporting wire of a hanging flower bed, dumping out its contents. Rozanov flinched at the sound of the gun fire, realizing just how desperate the American really was.

Desperate enough to kill him.

Rozanov stumbled to the side, stealing a frightened glance back at the American. "Нет!" He yelled desperately. "Нет!" He ran forward; He was almost to the garage.

"Where's my daughter!" Walt exclaimed. The American was getting desperate. There was now no doubt in his mind that the Russian had indeed brought harm to his daughter.

Rozanov ducked inside the garage, running forward. He threw himself to the ground instinctively as a bullet smashed through the garage window, startling him and barely missing hitting him. He scrambled to his feet, his heart racing.

Walt ran down from the porch, dashing to the front of the house. Hearing the gun fire, Elspeth and Pete had hurried out of the house, watching as he had taken a second shot at the Russian, who had just entered the garage. "Walt!" She cried. She had been afraid that it had not been him who had fired.

Rozanov got to his feet, panting as his heart pounded in his chest. He spotted the open door of the stolen car and he made a dash for it. He crawled in, shutting the door behind him.

Hearing the slam of the car door, Walt looked up, alarmed to see his enemy escaping. Panicking, he ran forward, out the gate and stood planted on the side of the road, gun in hand.

"Stop! I warn you! Stop!" Walt cried. "Where's my daughter!?"

The black bug started up, pulling out of where it had been parked. Desperately, Rozanov drove the car forward, hoping against all hopes that he would make it past the terrified American in one piece.

"Stop or I'll fire! Where's my daughter!? I'm warning you to stop or I'll kill you!" Walt raised the gun at the quickly advancing car, fear gripping him.

In the terror and excitement of the moment, Walt pressed and held the trigger.

Rozanov jumped startled as bullets began to pelt the windshield.

Walt held the trigger down with all his might. The Russian had killed his daughter, of that he was convinced. It was only when the car swerved and a pain scream tore through the air that Walt was snapped out from his maddened state.

He watching in shock as the car swerved out of control, coming to an abrupt halt as it crashed into the fence lining the other side of the road.

All suddenly became deathly quiet. Walt stood, stunned, his heart pounding in his chest.

Behind him, Elspeth and Pete stood frozen, eyes wide as they gazed at the wrecked car. No movement was seen from the wreckage and dust settled around it as it sat there, deathly still. Walt's grip of the gun slackened and it slipped to one hand by his side.

The sound that broke the silence brought mixed feelings to the heart of the American. It was the voice of his daughter, Annie, calling to her mother. Walt turned, mixed emotions tearing at his heart. There standing in the gateway, was his Daughter, Annie, together with Alyson and the young Russian sailor. Yes, he was overjoyed that his daughter was alive... but that meant..."

Walt looked back at the wreckage.

What had he done?


	2. 2: Wounded More Than Just Dignity

**A ****_The Russians are Coming!_**** Fanfic**

_**Shattered Window**_

Chapter 2

_Wounded More Than Just Dignity_

Walt Whitaker took a step toward the wrecked car. What had he done? His daughter and Alyson were alive and unharmed...

The Russian had been Innocent.

Walt swallowed hard. There was still no sound from the wrecked car. Had he killed a man? Walt shook at the thought. How could he have done this?

Nervously, he walked forward, trying to seeing in through the windows of the still car. He stopped when he had reached the driver's window. Taking a deep breath, he let it out shakily. Walt bent over, looking in through the open window.

He froze when he saw the still, slumped figure of the Russian.

He was laying on his side across the two front seats, an arm covering his face. Shattered glass covered him and lay scattered everywhere else. He was perfectly still and deathly silent. Walt shifted his weight nervously. He looked intensely at the Russian's side and saw to his relief that it was rising and falling ever so slightly; he was breathing, but very shallowly.

"Hey?" Walt reached in, gently shaking the Russian by his side. "Hey?"

There was no response.

Walt looked desperately up at the others, who had now gathered around the car.

Taking a hold of the door, he opened it, trying again to arouse the Russian. Walt shook him again, firmer this time. He was growing very nervous. Suddenly, the Russian moaned, then curled up in a cringe of pain. "Unggh..." He moaned.

"Hey? Hey, are you- are you hurt?" Walt asked, worried.

His only reply was another pained moan.

"Hey?"

"Uhnnngh"

Walt stepped back from the door.

"Well?" Elspeth asked, worried.

"I don't know." Walt said quietly. "I think he's hurt."

Walt leaned into the car, holding onto the dashboard for support. Carefully, he moved the Russian's arm to uncover his face.

Walt cringed as his limp arm slid away. Crimson blood glistened on his forehead. The blood, however, wasn't from a bullet wound, but looked more like he had hit his head during the crash, which explained why he was unconscious.

Walt sighed in relief. He had been afraid that he had shot him; which would have complicated things very much. Reaching in, Walt gently took a hold of the limp form, carefully sitting him upwards.

The Russian moaned and winced at the sudden movement, which made the American question his latter thought. As his limp form straitened, something crimson caught Walt's eye.

He gasped.

Blood stained the front of the Russian's black, leather jacket.

"Walt, what is it? What's wrong?" Elspeth asked quickly, having heard his horrified gasp.

Walt didn't reply. He was staring in shock down at the unconscious man's chest. What have I done?

Suddenly, the Russian stirred, groaning.

Startled, yet happy to see him moving, Walt gently restrained him to the seat to prevent him from causing further damage to himself.

Rozanov cringed at the pain that burned in his chest. He felt something touch him and it seemed to restrain him, making him unable to move. He furrowed his eyebrows. _Gun shots. Yes, that was it. Then an intense searing pain in his chest. Now blackness._ He heard himself moan again and he grit his teeth against the pain in his chest. What was holding him down? He fought to open his eyes and, after a moment, managed to do so.

Everything was a blur of color and he quickly closed his eyes again, tightly; waiting a few more minutes before trying again. As the blur cleared, he saw the windshield-cracked and porous with bullet holes. Moving his gaze over he realized what was restraining him.

A nervous smile flash momentarily on Walt's face as the Russian's dazed eyes opened partway and looked around, his gaze turning up toward him and staying there a moment before slowly closing again.

Rozanov sighed, then gathering his strength, opened his mouth to speak.

"Always I am saying good-bye to you," Rozanov said, his voice weak and strained with pain. "And always I am meeting you again..." His voice cracked and trailed off, followed by several soft moans and gasps.

Walt tried to smile, but only concern and regret shown on his face.

"Unh..." Rozanov slumped in the seat, sending a wave of panic through the poor American. Walt loosened his hold on him, but didn't let go because he would fall over otherwise. Seeing that now would be the best time (seeing that he was unconscious again), Walt slide his hands under the Russian's arms, gently pulling him out of the car and laying him out on the grass where he began to moan again and wreath in pain.

Walt heard the others gasp behind him. Walt looked down.

The poor American didn't know what to do. He had done this. How could he have been so- _Stop it! Pull yourself together, Walter! A voice in his head screamed. Here you are feeling sorry for yourself when this man could be on the threshold of deaths door!_ Walt shook his head, quickly pulling himself together.

He turned to face the others. Alyson was holding Annie close to her, avoiding the girl's young eyes from the scene before them. Alyson herself, stood frozen; staring down at the shaking form of the Russian, who lay gasping on the ground. Beside her stood Kolchen, his hand firmly, but gently, gripping hers, a look of shock on his face. Beside them, stood Elspeth and Pete. Walt's wife was avoiding looking directly at the injured man due to her homophobia, or fear of blood. Pete stood perfectly still, eyes wide.

Walt immediately took charge of the situation.

"Elspeth, get the children inside the house; Alyson, get some water and rags and get the spare-room bed ready; And you, Kolchen, help me."

Immediately, they moved to obey. Elspeth took Annie from Alyson and led Pete by the hand to the house. Alyson, after a reassuring glance up to Kolchen and a gentle hand squeeze, she quickly followed to make ready for the injured Russian.

Kolchen stepped up eagerly, looking down at his injured superior officer.

"Kolchen, help me lift him. Be careful of his shoulder." Walt instructed. Together, they managed to left him without to much trouble and quickly but carefully carried him towards the house.

Walt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If anything was to happen to this man, he would never be able to forgive himself.

_O Lord, don't let him die._


	3. Yuri Rozanov

A_ Russians Are Coming! _Fanfic

_**Shattered Window**_

Chapter 3

_Yuri Rozanov_

**Merry Christmas everyone!**

Walt was beside himself. He wished it was all just a horrible nightmare; that he could just shake himself awake. But there he stood, legs trembling, with an unconcious man draped in his arms. A man who was not sick, but shot.

_He_ had shot him.

Walt couldn't take his eyes from the man in his arms; as if he would die the moment he looked away. This man was a Russian. _A Russian_. That was enough to frighten anyone. Russians, America's most feared adversaries were right here... in his house. Walt knew how feared and even prehaps hated these men were, and he too was guilty of such bitter judgements. But it wasn't the Governemnt that makes up a country, its the people. So many Americans bear grudges against these men and there homeland because of their Government. But these men were individuals. It was not their fault the government was bad.

Looking down at the man, Walt realized this.

He shouldn't judge a whole nationality of people, just because of one bad man in office.

Walt sighed.

This Russian didn't even mean to be a threat to America. Like any American patriot, he had joined the navy to fight for his home and those he loved. Now here he was, trapped on this Island, injured, and surrounded by terrified people. But what those people didn't realize, was just how terrified these _Russians_ were.

How terrified _this_ Russian was.

And now from Walt's own fear, this man was shot; possibly dying.

Walt swallowed hard and continued to stare down at the man in his arms.

The Russian was terribly pale, and his breathing sounded rugged. Only that morning, Walt had been scared stiff of this man; But now, he was laying helpless in his arms. Walt felt not only pitty, but regret, shame, and fear for this man.

This Russian was hurt. Because of _him_.

"Walt? Walt."

Walt broke his gaze on the Russian and looked up, startled. He blinked up at Kolchen, who stood in front of him, his arms held out in anticipation. Realizing the voice couldn't have been his, Walt looked behind him and saw Alyson staring at him from behind the spare-room bed.

"Walt, put him down." She pleaded.

Hesitantly, Walt let Kolchen take hold of his superior officer. Walt cringed at the weak cry of pain that came from the Russian. Sweat glistened on the American's forehead, and it didn't go unnoticed by the other two.

Alyson watched Walt for a moment, seeing the look of guilt in his eyes.

She knew he was beating himself up inside, and she hoped for his sake and for the sake of the russian, that the injured man would survive. Because if something was to go wrong, Alyson knew Walt would never forgive himself.

Kolchen aslo noticed. He hadn't seen how this had happened, but it was plain that the American was suffering over it. He could see the fear in the man's eyes; the same fear that his own eyes mirrored. He couldn't hold the American acountable, even though he had shot Rozanov, it was plainly an irrashional act which he no was regretting dearly.

Together, Walter and Kolchen gently layed Rozanov out onto the bed. Walt strainened and looked down. His eyes grew wide and he lifted his hands up infront of his face. Blood was on his shirt and hands, and Walt was horrified at the sight.

Shaking himself out of it, he looked down at the bed, then took a hold of the injured man's jacket. Gently, he moved the fabric aside.

Blood soaked his black sweater.

Walt looked up at Alyson.

"Alyson, will you be all right?"

She knew what he meant.

Alyson knodded silently.

Elspeth entered the room carrying a bowl of hot water and a towel.

"Elspeth," Walt looked up at his wife. "I need a pair of scissors. I have to get his shirt off."

She took a quick look at the Russian, then quickly turned and left the room.

Walt picked up the towel and wet it, wringing it out. Although Walt was a writter, as an ambitious colledge student he had taken a class in medical treatments. Although he was no profetional, he knew what he was doing. But this was his first time putting it to use, since he had later dropped the idea of being a doctor and took up writting.

And he was terrified.

Pulling up a chair, Walt sat beside the bed and began to quickly, but gently clean the wound on the Russian's forehead.

Water dripped down the ridge of his nose into his eye, and Walt was startled when the man reacted to it.

The Russian blinked a couple times, then lifted a hand to brush the water from his eye. He winced at the movement, but had thankfully used is uninjured right arm.

The Russian moaned and let his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey?'' Walt leaned in and shook his arm. ''Hey, you with me?"

"Hn...?"

The Russian's brown eyes opened partially, and he imediately cringed as he became fully conscious of the pain in his chest.

Walt cringed with him.

"Ugn..."

Walt knew the only way he could fully assess the Russian's injury was to keep him conscious.

He gently gripped the man's arm.

"Hey, stay with me. Can you talk?"

The Russian was silent for a moment, and all Walt heard was the terrible raspy sound of his breathing.

"Wh-" The Russian attempted after a moment. He cringed, then tried again, "Wha- what h-happened?" His voice was weak, and the poor American could barely understand the question through his thick Russian accent.

"What?"

The Russian's eyes opened again, and he looked up at the American. It took him a moment, then the lights came on.

"Whittaker Walt.'' He croaked flatly. Walt was unsure if it was a question, a mumble, a statement, or an annoyed grumble.

The American wrung his hands nervously.

"Yes- uh, I mean- uh- Walt Whittarker." Walt corrected.

The Russian just stared up at him.

Walt cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"H- How are you?" Walt knew it was a stupid question, but he didn't know how else he could ask how he felt; He had to know the extent of the injury.

The Russian remained silent.

Walt tried again.

"Do you know where you are?"

Another stupid question.

_Of course he doesn't know, he's never been in this room before._

The Russian looked around anyway, his eyes coming back to rest on the American's face, but he still remained silent. Walt noticed that his expression was blank, his eyes looked quite incoherent. The Russian suddenly closed his eyes, and tensed; clenching his teeth at the pain that shot through him.

Elspeth reentered the room holding a pair of scissors, which she imediately handed to Walt. Walt took them quickly, knowing he should have gotten to the bullet wound sooner.

The Russian flinched slightly as Walt reached over him and began cutting through the matterial of his black sweater, but remained still; his eyes closed tightly, and his breathing continueing to come in uneven, raspy intakes. Sweat had appeared on his forehead, and Walt wondered if the Russian was getting a fever.

Walt cut through the fabric carefully, pausing when the Russian tensed again.

"Its OK, '' The American comforted, "I'm just removing your sweater," He explained.

Walt cut around the bloodied area cautiously. With a last snip, the shirt parted and Walt carefully removed the material from the shot wound. It clung wetly, but was removed with little reaction from the Russian, which Walt wondered whether it was a good sign or a bad one.

He pulled the fabric aside, wincing when he saw the entrance wound. It looked terrible, but the worst part was all the blood that he was losing.

Walt knew he had to stop it before he lost too much. If he hadn't already.

Elspeth stood in the corner of the room where she couldn't see the blood. Walt looked up at her.

"Elspeth, find the first aid kit. He'll need bandages."

Taking the towel, Walt folded it into a square and pressed it firmly against the bullet wound.

The reaction was imediate.

The Russian's eyes suddenly opened as he julted and let out a cry of pain.

Kolchen, who Walt had completely forgot about, was suddenly at the other side of the bed, gently restraining his comrade.

Walt gave him a grateful look, and continued to press on the wound.

The injured Russian squirmed and looked up at Walt, and the American was somewhat glad to see that his brown eyes no longer looked incoherent.

Walt took the chance and attemted to get him talking.

"How do you feel?"

The Russian gave him an etched look.

Walt swallowed audibly. He decided these weren't the questions to ask a man with a bullet in him.

Walt rewet the towel, then pressed it to the wound.

"Ung!" The Russian cringed again, holding his ridgidity longer this time.

Walt felt terrible, but he _had_ to stop the bleeding.

The Russian moaned again, and Walt realized he was starting to pass out. Paniced, Walt quickly attempted to keep him awake.

"Hey, stay with me." Walt tapped the side of the Russian's face. His eyes opened partially, and looked up at the American.

Walt tried to smile.

"What's your name? I don't think we were properly introduced." Walt continued conversationally, hoping to keep him conscious. He _was_ curious, though.

The Russian appeared to be struggling for a moment, then took a careful breath.

"Y-Yuri Roz- _ung_... Rozanov..." He struggled.

"Yuri Rozanov? Huh. Do you h- hey, stay with me, stay with me- Do you have a wife?"

Rozanov continued to struggle against the darkness that threatened to cloud his vision.

"No..." He replied weakly.

Walt noticed sweat collecting on the Russian's forehead, and he was starting to shake. Walt also abserved that his face was turning paler, and his eyes started to lose their coherent spark. A change in Rozanov's breathing starled him.

Walt quickly leaned forward.

"Rozanov? Rozanov?!"

He had fallen unconscious again, and his breathing had suddenly quickened, causing it to come as short gasps.

Paniced, Walt felt Rozanov's forehead. He was burning up, and yet he looked like he was shivering. Walt felt the Russian's neck for a pulse: It was fast and weak.

Dread swept over the American.

He lifted the stained towel and looked at the bullet wound. The blood flow hadn't stopped; in fact, it was flowing as strongly as ever. Walt knew that blood from bullet wounds in the chest where hard to stop, but he couldn't afford that.

Rozanov was loosing too much blood. And he knew it.


End file.
